


The person that you'd take a bullet for is behind the trigger

by synthiesia



Series: The world is just a teller and we are wearing black masks [9]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Gen, Immortal Fake AH Crew, Pre-Fake AH Crew, See author note
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26964712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synthiesia/pseuds/synthiesia
Summary: “You’ve been to Russia??”“Sure.”“What doessuremean??”“I mean…it wasn’t called Russia at the time.”The story of how Ryan actually died comes out. It’s not what anyone expected.
Series: The world is just a teller and we are wearing black masks [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/630137
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	The person that you'd take a bullet for is behind the trigger

**Author's Note:**

> hey all. what a great time to have just rejoined this fandom, right ? (for real tho, there’s just,,,,no way any of us could have seen this coming.)
> 
> in light of,,,everything that has come out, i have made the choice to just post what i already had written prior to everything, with a paragraph at the end explaining where the rest of the story would have gone. i'm disappointed, both in someone i looked up to, and in how a fanfic series that at one point was the thing i was the proudest of having created has had to end. i had hoped maybe i could finish this and post it, just for some sort of closure, but when i went to write it again i knew that was an unrealistic expectation. i know some people will say i shouldn't have posted this at all, but i felt i owed the og fans of this story an explanation (because i would have wanted one), and also i needed some sort of closure. however, this is likely the end of the fakes for me. 
> 
> i had planned on creating a story about joel heyman/adam ellis in austin, texas, post the events of what happened to joel in geoff's chapter. if anyone would like to read that, i would still be open to writing that- it would only reference geoff and jack from the fakes.

It was Gavin’s fault, really. 

Gavin was the nosy fucker who, ever so slightly drunk, decided they needed to compare death stories. How they died the first time, their best death, all that. The thing was, by now most of them knew, at least somewhat, about how the others had died. They knew Gav died during his time as an agent in Britain, that Jack died in the service, that Ray had been mugged and Michael beaten, and they’d all heard the news when Jeremy had died. But they didn’t really know the specifics of Geoff’s death- no one had ever really thought to ask, he’d been dead long before any of them- and everyone had always been a little nervous to ask Ryan. 

Gavin even volunteered to go first. Wove a tale of disillusionment and loss, ending it in a bathtub with a golden gun and a glamorous end. He’d long since accepted what he’d done to himself, and didn’t mind sharing it with his new family. 

As for his favorite death, he couldn’t help but laugh, reminiscing about convincing Jack that if they flew the Titan at the right height and if he jumped out of it at the right angle he could run down Mt. Chilead. It hadn’t been one of his finer plans, but he’d been fucking convinced it would work. He’d snapped his neck instantly on impact (as well as shattering all the other bones in his body). It had been a great moment. 

Michael volunteered to go next, never one to be shown up by Gavin. He talked about betraying the Family, being murdered for his sins. It sounded like something out of a bad mob movie. As for his favorite death, it wasn’t even something he had to think about. And then he talked about his best death- caught by the LSPD, cornered on all sides- how he’d lit himself up, blown to pieces, taking out a quarter of the police force with him. 

Next came Ray, laughing as he told the story of being mugged at a rest stop, of them wanting his money and not being willing to search his underwear. It took him a moment to come up with his best death, though as soon as he thought of it, it was obvious. (Insert Ray’s favorite death.)

Jeremy told the specifics of Haddock’s crew murdering him. Of making a mistake and them doing what they had to, taking him into an alley and breaking both his legs, before putting a bullet into his head.  
As for his favorite death. He’d been here long enough to have a few fun run ins of his own, but his best death would have to be one of the first couple times he was kidnapped. Not because the death itself was impressive, but because he’d ripped through the ropes the captors had tied him down with, charged headfirst at them, made them shoot him. 

The death itself was not the fun part. The fun part was when he got back up, and the gangsters who had taken him had to face down what they had thought was a dead man. 

The fear in their eyes had sent an adrenaline rush through veins that few things could replicate. 

Jack volunteered his story next, talking about being ordered to do things he didn’t agree with, being distracted and getting shot down, again and again and again, far too many times, before he realized he wasn’t surviving, he was dying and then coming back again. They all had a laugh at that- at just how long it took him to realize the truth, about how in denial he had been beforehand. 

As for his favorite death, well, wasn’t that a story. A heist, pulled off perfectly. They were escaping in the Titan. Free and clear. They’d even managed to blow up the helicopters following them. 

And then the engine stalled. 

“I’m assuming whoever forgot to put fuel in the Titan is the same person who forgot to pack the parachutes.” 

At the time, Jack had been mad. But in retrospect it was definitely one of the funnier deaths they’d had, and so probably his favorite. 

And Gavin had eventually fessed up to having forgotten to pack the parachutes, but in his defense he had asked Michael to fuel the Titan- although Michael had never actually said yes. 

Geoff’s first death was pretty much a story they all _knew_ , even if he’d never explicitly said it. From comments he made- first about how _old_ he was, how they were bad for his _bones_ , he was such an _old man_ \- to just generally stories he told, they all knew he’d died with a _bang_ in the 80’s, with the rest of the Roosters. 

They hadn’t known the specifics, about it being a shootout on the street, about waking up and having absolutely no idea what was going on but feeling a little like a god. It made sense, but was still wild to hear Geoff talk about. 

His favorite death, 

And then there was only Ryan. 

“Well, Rye-bread? How’d you die?” Gav asked, flopping over the back of the couch Ryan was sitting on and looking up at the man, a wide grin on his face. “Come on, share.” He splayed his hand across the side of Ryan’s face drunkenly, patting him on the cheek. 

Ryan just sighed. “You’re drunk, Gav.” He pulled the younger man all the way onto the couch. 

“Not that drunk.” He looked at Ryan, grinning, eyes wide. “Faster metabolisms with the whole immortal bit, remember?” He pulled himself up. 

“Yeah, Rye, why don’t you share?” Ray chimed in, sipping on his capri sun from his spot on the counter. 

Geoff sat up from his spot sprawled across an armchair, looking at Ryan suddenly, his brow furrowing together. “How…how did you die, Ryan?” The rest of the crew glanced between the two of them, a little wide-eyed. While none of them knew how Ryan had died, it never occurred to them that Geoff didn’t know, either. 

Ryan sighed, running a hand over his face. “It’s…kind of a long story.” 

“We’ve got time.” 

“…okay. Okay.” Ryan nodded. “Well…if we’re gonna get into this story, I suppose I should start by telling you guys I kind of have a brother.” 

* * *

They’d found each other when they were young. Too young. Ryan was 14. Trevor was 10. It was an economic depression, and they were both homeless and family-less. 

They met each other at a homeless camp, and then stuck to each other like glue- moving in and out of different camps together as each one got broken up. They traveled together, finding refuge where they could. 

They were brothers, in all the ways that mattered. They didn’t look alike, didn’t have the same family name. But they were brothers. Ryan picked up odd jobs when he could, where he could. 

There wasn’t a lot of work to be had. That’s part of what made it the Great Depression. 

It was the 30’s, and they lived in the city. They got by. Ryan did what he had to. He kept Trevor safe. Both their original families were long gone- sickness, or debt collectors. They didn’t really talk about it. Ryan’s family had been gone for a couple of years now- he was used to surviving on his own. Trevor’s wounds were fresher, and it still hurt to think about. 

But they survived, as best they could. 

They looked out for each other when the world was against them. It was hard work. 

They fought, a lot, after Trevor turned 12. He thought he should be able to help, to contribute, to do what Ryan was doing. But he was still young, still innocent in all the ways that counted. So Ryan tried to keep him from doing the hard things. Only one of them should have to grow up this fast. 

It was hard, though. It was hard for Trevor, having to watch Ryan work all day, come back and refuse to talk about the blood under his fingernails, the dark look in his eyes, and still only come home with enough food for Trevor. 

So Trevor started looking for work behind Ryan’s back. It was wrong, he knew that, especially with how much Ryan sacrificed, but it was also wrong that he just did nothing while his brother did all the work. He picked up odd jobs where he could. They lived in the city still, and there was always work in Los Santos, if you knew where to look. 

He’d barely been working a week when Ryan found out. They fought. 

“You do it, and you’re fine.” Trevor yelled. He was frustrated, not just at Ryan not letting him work, but at the world at large. It wasn’t fair, that they worked so hard and got so little for it. 

“Maybe I don’t want you to end up like me.” Ryan growled. “You’re twelve, Trevor. You have your life ahead of you. Don’t go making yourself into a cynic now.” Ryan shook his head. “You’re not…I know we’re brothers, Trevor, but you’re not…” 

“What.” Trevor glared. But even his glares had no real bite to them, and Ryan remembered in that moment why he was doing this. Trevor was just…so young. 

“You’re still a kid, Trevor. And I’m trying to make it so you get to keep being one. Don’t throw that away because you think the world’s unfair. The world’s gonna unfair either way- it won’t care how much you sacrifice.” 

Because sacrifice they did. But it never mattered. They were lucky to even survive- lots of kids didn’t, once their parents were long gone. 

And so Trevor stopped working, for a while. This would be an argument they revisited, first when Trevor 14, and the again when he was 16. He thought he should work. He thought he should do what Ryan was doing. 

But Ryan would be damned before he let Trevor have to make the sacrifices he was making. He could feel himself slipping away, knew he was changing. He knew this would make him into something harder and colder and crueler. With every death, he cared less and less about other people’s lives. He cared less and less about the violence. But that’s what he needed to be to keep them alive. It was only with Trevor that he could let his guard down, where he didn’t have to be worried that 

He thought it was the two of them against the world. And for a while, it was. It lasted longer than most people would have given them credit before. But nothing good could ever really last. 

Trevor was 24 when he died. Ryan was 28. They had gotten longer than most people they knew. They gotten well into adulthood, into working factory jobs that didn’t pay shit and weren’t going anywhere. 

It wasn’t, technically speaking, anything terribly dramatic, the first death. A factory accident, someone careless not making sure equipment was secured, and then Trevor was caught under the weight of the machinery. He shouldn’t have survived. 

He didn’t, technically, although only he and Ryan knew that. 

* * *

“You have a brother???” Gavin squawked loudly, flailing towards Ryan. “An immortal brother?? There’s another immortal???” 

“Wait, back up.” Geoff exclaimed over him. “You’re from the 19 fucking 30’s???” 

Ryan just quirked an eyebrow up. “You didn’t think you were the oldest, did you?” Michael cackled from the other end of the room as Geoff looked at Ryan, dumbstruck. Yes, obviously he had thought he was the oldest one. No one had ever contradicted him on that! 

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Geoff’s voice cracked as it raised another octave. 

Ryan shrugged. “You never asked.” 

The thing was, it was true. They hadn’t ever asked him how he died, or when. But he’d also never volunteered the information. He’d never really said anything about it at all. And it wasn’t really something they actively thought about or talked about. They hadn’t known the specifics of how Geoff died, either. 

“Do you want to actually here how I died?” 

“Yes!” They all were talking over each other now, their voices getting louder and louder, until finally Geoff had had enough. 

“Shut up a minute! Ryan, we want to know the entire story.” 

Ryan sighed. Of course they did. 

* * *

There were layoffs again. They both got let go. 

Ryan found himself turning back to crime to keep them both afloat. He was good at it, and it no longer bothered him, the violence. It was just a job. 

It would be a few decades still before his apathy would turn into something more dangerous. 

But for now, he could weaponize his apathy to allow him to do the jobs no one else was willing to do. He could weaponize his apathy that enabled him to cut people apart without mercy, to not care as people begged and screamed for their lives. 

He was very good at his job. 

Trevor was 24 now, had been for the last two years, would be forever. And it had changed him. He was more reckless, he cared less about other people. He’d developed a sort of harshness about him, hidden underneath a veneer of friendliness. 

And then Trevor got interested in in Ryan’s work. 

This time, there wasn’t an argument. Trevor just showed up one day, joined the crew, and Ryan didn’t get a say in it. 

That was the beginning of the end, for them. 

For the next four years, Trevor rose in the ranks. He was clever, and charismatic, and had a cutthroat nature to him that no one ever saw coming. He was every bit as good as Ryan at what he did. 

With a smile, a charming comment, his wide eyes and almost nervous disposition, he would have you exposing your whole life story in a matter of moments. He’d have you taking the poison and believing it was your own idea. 

Ryan knew they were growing apart as it happened. Trevor was coming into himself as a criminal, and had started distancing himself from Ryan. He thought he even knew why. 

Trevor’s MO was poison. Everything he did was concise and thought out, with no loose ends. It was clean. He rarely even had to see people die. 

And every month, every year that went by, Ryan’s methods got bloodier and bloodier. He knew how to send a message. He knew exactly how long it took a man to bleed out, what wounds would send someone into shock. He was stained red by what he had become. Trevor was the guy they sent to socialize, to schmooze, to make nice amongst the elite. 

Ryan was the guy they sent to take out armies. 

But they had been brothers once. So when Ryan decided enough was enough, he told Trevor, offered Trevor a chance to come with him. 

Ryan was 36 now. He was tired of this, and he had enough money to leave Los Santos. He just wanted to know if Trevor would come with. 

Trevor had said he would think about it. There was a sharpness in his eye, but it was one Ryan was used to, one that had come and never gone away years ago. 

When his apartment blew up with him inside it the next morning, and he learned that he, too, was immortal, he thought he understood his mistake. But he had to be sure. 

The thing was, in the four years they had technically been working together, Trevor and Ryan had never actually worked together. Their skillsets just didn’t lend themselves to that. So while Trevor knew the horror stories, same as everyone else, he didn’t know the look in Ryan’s eyes, the complete lack of empathy he could have. 

He’d thought Ryan was the weaker of the two of them. 

When he woke up, tied up in a boat he’d never been on, Ryan sitting nearby, he’d still believed it. Ryan could tell by the look in his eyes, by the way he smirked, asked if this was Ryan’s way of forcing him to stop working, of forcing him to be like him. 

He fell silent when Ryan actually turned and looked at him. The look in his eyes wasn’t one Trevor had seen before, and it sent a chill down his spine. 

“No.” Ryan said, and it was almost soft, but there was a sound to it, a quality that over the next couple decades he would perfect, that would someday come to haunt the nightmares of the gangsters of Los Santos. “You’ll never be like me.” He picked up the knife from the table next to him, crouched down in front of Trevor. “You don’t have the stomach for it.” 

* * *

All of the Fakes were staring at him, now, and Ryan knew without looking that they all had their own shocked, disbelieving expressions on their faces. 

He ran a hand threw his hair, before getting up off the couch- dislodging Gavin in the process, who squawked but didn’t say anything, and wasn’t that telling- and going to his room. He could hear the living room erupt behind him as he left, but he didn’t turn back. 

There were three different sets of half-aborted knocks on his door in the next few minutes, and a whole lot of quiet arguing. Ryan figured he’d let them work out amongst themselves which one of them actually wanted to face him. 

He knew they knew what he was capable of. They’d all bore witness firsthand to his work. 

But never someone he had cared about. Never someone he had considered family. 

The door creaked open slowly. He half-turned, saw Jeremy standing there, could here Jack and Geoff arguing behind him. He raised an eyebrow at Jeremy, who came in all the way, locking the door behind him. 

He turned, finally. Jeremy was leaning against the door, looking at him. He looked back. This wasn’t who he had expected. 

This seemed especially cruel, after Jeremy had thought he’d tortured him once upon a time. 

“I mean, I think if someone had me murdered I’d probably have done some violent shit too.” Jeremy breaks the silence suddenly, and his voice is even, his gaze steady. Ryan just raised an eyebrow. 

“I lived.” 

“He didn’t know you would.” Jeremy shifts from foot to foot, and Ryan tracks the movement. He doesn’t seem nervous, he’s more…agitated. Antsy, like there’s something else he wants to say and he hasn’t gotten there yet. 

There’s a banging on the door again, and then he can faintly hear Jack having harsh words with…Geoff, most likely. He looks back at Jeremy with a raised eyebrow. 

Jeremy shrugs sheepishly. “Geoff wanted to be the one to talk to you. Doing his job as the boss and all. Jack helped me sneak past him.” 

“You wanted to be the one to come in here.” Ryan says flatly. Jeremy shrugs again, refusing to look at Ryan, but Ryan can see the tension in the way he holds himself, the subconscious way he tries to square himself off, refusing to back down. 

“So.” Jeremy says. 

“So.” Ryan says back. 

Jeremy laughs. “Listen. I’m not saying what you did wasn’t mad fucked up, cause we all know it was, but I mean. Gavin and Michael played surgeon simulator on the xbox and then played surgeon simulator in real life on someone.” 

“But it wasn’t someone they knew.” Ryan reasoned. “It’s not like it was someone they cared about.” 

Jeremy shrugged. “Okay, but it’s not like you’d do it to us.” He says it so matter-of-factly, so bluntly, that Ryan knows he believes it. 

“You can’t know that.” Ryan finds himself questioning anyway. 

“Oooh, but I can.” Jeremy says back. Ryan…doesn’t have an argument. To an extent, he knows it’s true. He couldn’t imagine hurting any of the Fakes. But he couldn’t have imagined hurting Trevor, either, before he did. 

Then again, he couldn’t imagine any of the Fakes betraying him, either. 

“It wasn’t something any of you needed to know about.” Ryan finds himself explaining. Jeremy nods, because yeah, that makes sense. 

There’s a banging on the door again, and both Ryan and Jeremy turn. “You should probably let him in.” Jeremy chuckles. “Before he tries to blow open your door.” 

“I suppose so.” Ryan goes over and unlocks the door, yanking it open, and he isn’t surprised when Geoff, who was half-leaning half-banging on the door, stumbles into his room. 

Geoff stares at him, squawking, and before he can even say anything Ryan cuts him off. “Jeremy and I talked about it. It’s fine. You happy knowing I’m the oldest now?” He knows he sounds a little smug at the end, but. It will certainly rile Geoff up. 

And it does. Geoff makes a loud noise, pointing first at Ryan and then at Jeremy. “You. And you!! I can’t believe you just- the disrespect from both of you- I cannot-” 

Ryan tunes him out, meeting Jack’s eyes from over Geoff’s shoulder. Jack nods at him, and he nods back. They will move on from this, just as they do everything. 

And that should have been the end of it. But of course it couldn’t just end there. It started coming up. Now that they all know how old Ryan is, when they ask him where he learned things he doesn’t bother to back. 

This, of course, always results in him later telling the whole story. 

The thing is, after he dumped Trevor over the side of the boat, he hadn’t known what to do with himself. He knew Trevor was going to go back to work, and he had no desire to stay in Los Santos. 

(He hadn’t known when he’d gotten on that boat that he wouldn’t be back to Los Santos until almost a century later, joining a new gang and finding a new family.) 

Ryan traveled a lot. He’s been a lot of different places. But he hadn’t realized how much the boys didn’t know about his travels until one day, when they’re escaping, and he’s driving, and Ray asks “So if you’re from the depression, where’d you learn to drive?” 

“Moscow.” Ryan says offhandedly, making a turn. 

Gavin squawks. “You’ve been to Russia??” 

Ryan hums. “Sure.” 

“What does sure mean??” Geoff exclaims from where he’s leaning out the window, firing his gun. 

“I mean…it wasn’t called Russia at the time.” 

* * *

He didn’t see Trevor again until the 1960’s. 

This time they ran into each other in New York City. The whole world was their playground, and they lived a block and a half from each other. What were the odds. 

The odds were actually pretty good. They had similar skillsets, similar interests. Their paths were always going to overlap. 

They ran into each other on the street. They were actually lucky, really, that they hadn’t before then. 

Ryan hadn’t been sure he was seeing Trevor, at first. When he’d first left Los Santos he saw Trevor everywhere, in every dark haired decently tall young man he saw. But this time, the widened eyes and nervous look, the stopped dead in his tracks deer in the headlights look, told him this was the real thing. 

The last thing he saw before the world went dark was Trevor pulling a gun. 

When he came to, a few moments later, he knew it was time to go. People always got antsy when he survived things he shouldn’t, and the surrounding crowd had seen him take a bullet to the head. 

Besides that, he didn’t want to be here anymore, where he ran into Trevor again, where his blood was splattered on the pavement and he was reminded of what he had done the last time they were together. He was reminded of all the things he was capable of. 

He needed to go away, go somewhere where his past couldn’t catch up to him again, somewhere he could do damage without anyone caring. So he packed up his things, liquidated his American assets, and set out. And he knew where to go. 

He went behind the Iron Curtain. He went to the USSR. 

He didn’t really have a plan beyond that. He’d gotten good at picking up languages, so he was in the Soviet Union a couple months and already spoke a passable amount of Russian. 

It’s how he caught word of the “American spy”. 

See, there was a rumor going around. That the Americans had created the perfect spy, someone who could survive anything, who could just keep getting back up no matter what they threw at him. 

That sounded like an immortal. 

The thing was, Ryan knew he and Trevor couldn’t be the only ones. There had to be others who this was true of too. He wasn’t sure why it happened, or why them specifically, but it couldn’t just be them. 

So he figured he would investigate this. 

Now, this sounded like a harder task than it really was. Since finding out he was immortal, Ryan had spent pretty much all of his time developing, cultivating, and perfecting a certain skillset, one that he knew would benefit him here. 

**Author's Note:**

> the end i had planned:
> 
> I had planned on having Ryan rescue Trevor, and then Trevor fleeing the USSR back to America (which Ryan did not know). From there, we would follow Ryan through the decades leading up to him meeting Geoff and Jack (and the Fakes). After that, we would follow the Fakes as they went about their life (in the present time- because Ryan had finished his story), and when he was with Matt at some point Jeremy would be watching Trevor and Realize Maybe That’s Trevor Trevor. Because, after all, what are the Fakes lives but a massive coincidence?  
> From there, Ryan and Trevor would have a proper reconciliation, wherein everyone learned that Jeremy’s Trevor is also Ryan’s Trevor. Ryan would learn that Trevor has lowkey been stalking Ryan since he became famous (Las Vegas). They would duke it out and then everything would continue forward as normal, since they are so far removed from each other that they needed to just make peace, but they couldn’t actually be close anymore.
> 
> let me know if you would be interested in reading about joel/adam still.


End file.
